ALBUM REVIEW: Juliana Hatfield, 'Pussycat'

The latest from Boston alt rock icon Juliana Hatfield is perhaps the definitive artistic statement about the Trump Era so far, and her masterpiece.

Pete Chianca

Juliana Hatfield had one of the sharpest alternative voices of the ’90s, and on “Whatever, My Love,” her 2015 reunion with the Juliana Hatfield Three, she proved she was still an expert at melodic self-flagellation and punchy, punky takedowns of misbegotten lovers. But there was nothing on that disc to portend “Pussycat,” which perfectly merges the personal and political to become perhaps the definitive artistic statement about the Trump Era so far, and Hatfield’s masterpiece.

“What if we tried to get along,” the Boston-area native sings on “Impossible Song,” one of several tracks aimed at making sense of a horribly divided nation and the toll it's taking on our collective psyche. She continues that theme on “You’re Breaking My Heart,” lamenting the divisions in the neighborhood where she formerly “slept so well”: “Now there’s a line like a climbing wall, high and rising … it’s clearly drawn and it cuts across and through everything,” she sings.

But it’s the source of those divisions that is the target of most of Hatfield’s ire. On “Short-Fingered Man,” Hatfield perfectly nails Trump’s limp narcissism and seemingly pathological sensitivity: “He’s very insecure,” she sings. “You have to talk gently to him, like a little girl.” And “When You’re a Star” is a brilliant, take-no-prisoners attack on sexual predators that expertly conflates Trump’s infamous “Access Hollywood” tape with the twisted Bill Cosby saga (“There’s never any backlash, you make a face and everyone laughs … You’re still America’s dad,” she sings).

The women in Trump’s orbit aren’t spared either. On “Kellyanne,” Hatfield pillories Trump’s one-time campaign manager, spitting, “You’re so hard like a rock in my shoe, like every bitch in high school.” Even grimmer is “Rhinoceros,” which name checks Melania and surmises, graphically, what it must be like to be Mrs. Trump (spoiler alert: it’s horrifying).

All of this sounds like it could be overbearing (and some of the more graphic imagery makes for a tough listen), but thanks to Hatfield’s deft touch, with her ingratiating stripped-down jangle and punk-poppy vibe, “Pussycat” is pointed but not at all heavy-handed. Rather, it’s an angry but clear-headed critique that captures perfectly where so many of us are at this very moment. It’s an important album, and the one we need right now.